Argh! My Eyes!
by Alex Wert
Summary: Andy and Angela get it on in five parts.
1. Chapter 1

**Author Notes**: Holy crap! I still exist!

Alie Woos and I came up with this idea way back in November. I'm very, very fast.

* * *

Andy: So how are things going with Angela? Things are going grrrrrr-_dash_-ate. In fact, they are going so well that I'm hoping that she'll let me get to third base with her soon. Third. Base.

He waggles his eyebrows.

Andy: The hot corner, if you get my drift. Heh heh... You do get my drift, right? 'Cause if you don't, I can explain it in more detail. You got it? Okay, good.

----

Angela was in the back corner of the office sorting through stacks and stacks of files that had been slavishly filled out under tight deadlines and promptly shelved (having never been looked at), a look of grim consternation mixed with guilty pleasure upon her face that only one man could produce in her. So it should come as no surprise to anyone that standing behind her, his hands jammed into the pockets of his bubblegum-plaid pants, Andrew Bernard was begging for sex.

"Under no circumstances will you be touching me on any of my bathing suit areas. That's final." Angela's forceful shove rumpled up the poor, innocent folder.

Andy bounced on his heels hopefully. "So it's okay if I touch your non-bathing suit areas?"

"No-" Angela began to say, but paused. Angela considered what he'd said for a moment. "Yes." Andy started to smile and make a celebratory gesture - prematurely as always. "But!" Angela clarified, "You will use the standard set by bathing suits of the 1900s. It was a more civilized era where people had proper concepts of modesty."

She rushed off, leaving Andy to contemplate what that left him with. He would need to consult Wikipedia later.

----

Angela: The only dating advice my mother ever gave me was that if a boy tries to touch my bathing suit areas, go limp.

Pause.

Angela: We were a very conservative household. Did you know that we never had Kool-Aid because my father thought that it was blasphemous?

Her eyes go stone dead for a second.

Angela: My childhood was very deprived...

----

"So what parts of your divine form am I allowed to touch? I looked at those pictures and-" Angela interrupted Andy silently with a withering glare - "Only for reference purposes, angel cakes - and the bathing suits look like ballgowns. How the h - e - double hockey sticks did the women from back then not drown or get eaten by even the slowest moving of special ed. sharks? Did all the manual labor they had to do give them fantastic upper body strength? And if they did, that would be kind of fun, if you know what I mean."

Angela continued her withering glare. Which really was normal behavior for her under any circumstances. "No, Andy, what _do_you mean?"

He sputtered for a bit, then started singing and wandered off back to his desk.

----

_Angela and Andy have been cornered by the camera crew in the conference room._

Angela: We're here to talk about sex. Sex? Oh dear.

She swoons.

Andy: Relax, baby. Sex is natural.

Angela stiffens, very uncomfortable.

Angela: Maybe it is when you do it.

She doubles over, like she's going to be ill, and goes running from the room. Andy watches her run away and shrugs, deep in contemplation. Alone with the camera, he has no problems talking about sex.

Andy: I wouldn't say that sex has been excessively natural when I've done it...

Pause.

Andy: There was my dom roommate for a couple of years...

He scratches his right buttock for slightly longer than strictly necessary. And grins.

Andy: And then there was that one time in the girls' change room in high school... Coach Davis didn't think what I was doing was natural.

----

Despite her best efforts, later that night found Angela alone with Andy in his bedroom. And despite her protestations and mental chastising, she also found that she was enjoying his attentions. She chose not to consider why.

"So... where were we..." Andy crooned while rubbing his neck against Angela's. "I believe it was non-bathing suit areas of the 1900s. Which means arms..." He nibbled his way along her slender, white limb. Angela purred contentedly. "And legs..."

"Below the knee!" Angela restricted. She didn't see Andy's cringe nor hear his aggravated sigh.

"Yes, M'lady." He began to kiss down her calves and her ankles, dragging his dry, papery lips across the top of her foot...

"Don't do that!" Angela giggled and squirmed.

Andy didn't pause, but asked, "Why not?" He started sucking on Angela's toes.

The thing is, Angela wasn't kidding when she told him not to do that. Some people, small people especially - small people like Angela - can be very, very ticklish. And when these certain people are stimulated in sensitive areas - areas such as the feet, for example - certain autonomic responses are bound to happen. And when these autonomic responses occur within proximity of a delicate object - one particularly delicate object being a human face - bad things can happen.

"OWW!!! My face! Argh!" Andy cupped his bleeding mouth in his hands, rolling in extreme pain on the floor and collecting paisley colored lint in his body hair. "I think I lost a tooth!"

A scowling Angela crossed her arms over her chest. "You were warned."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Notes**: Ow, my brain.

* * *

He stalked his prey like a wildcat, prowling, hunting, following his razor-sharp senses toward her. There she was: blonde, small, unaware... He had chased her this far, and now was his time to strike.

Pounce.

"_Aiieeep!_"

Andy bounded from behind the cubicle wall with all the grace of a tranquilized elephant, his fingers reaching out for Angela's exposed flanks. He caught her completely unaware as she tried in vain to do her work, elliciting a terrified yelp from Angela and an irritated scowl from Oscar.

"Get off me!" she yelled. Did that mean that she wanted him to stop? Impossible. Everyone loved a good Bernard finger-rippling, almost as much as his patented back rub. So what did he do? Did he take her at her word and stop tickling her? Or did he do what her hungry eyes told him to do and continue? It was nebulose. Then again, the elbow into his gut lead him to believe that it was the former.

So he did stop. Then he went to see if he was peeing blood.

He never would have guessed that he would bleed more with Angela than his ex-roommate.

It's a funny world.

* * *

Andy: So Angela and I are taking it slow because sex of any kind is an evil, evil, dirty, nasty, filthy thing... and should be experienced only with the person you love most in the world... because God loves us... or something. To be honest, I'm getting mixed messages on this one.

* * *

"Andy, I must speak with you about your inappropriate PDA earlier."

Andy was extremely shocked and worried. "Wait - what's wrong with my Blackberry?" He really needed an explanation or else he'd explode with concern. He loved his Blackberry and if anything was amiss... But Angela just looked at him like he was an idiot or something.

"Break room. Now," she hissed at him, just low enough for him and only him to hear. Not since Big Turkey tried to get rid of all the old geezers had he seen someone so upset about a Blackberry. It was scary, but not unhot.

He followed the petite, furious blonde into the break room, and as soon as the door was closed she let loose with a string of complaints and an interrogation regarding his intelligence and possibly whether his parents were brother and sister (no - second cousins at least). It actually took him half a minute to figure out what she was so angry about.

"So my Blackberry is okay?"

"Yes Andy," she rolled her eyes like a bowling ball, "your Blackberry is okay but your public tickling of me is most certainly not. Office romances are nobody's business except for the persons involved and doing that in front of Dw- Oscar is completely inappropriate. And you almost made me pee."

Also possibly unhot, but Andy probably rightly considered that this would not be the right time to make that statement. "Why do I have to stand facing away from you when we talk in the break room?" he asked instead.

"Andy, I'm trying to tell you to be more inconspicuous."

"Okay, but we probably look more foolish than inconspicuous. It's not like people can't see in and look at our mouths moving. Like HAL in 2001, if any of them can read lips and read that we're plotting to turn him off and then snip!" he flails about for a second and then plays dead. "See, the cameras are pointing at us right now." Andy pointed out into the sales floor where Steve the camera guy was semi-hiding behind the potted plant. Andy waved at him and smiled. Angela scowled.

"Look Pookie, I know this is important to you, but can we hurry this up? I have to get ready for my rehearsal with Scrantonicity 2."

Angela huffed and she puffed... She didn't blow anything down but she left the break room in a state of total exaspiration.

Andy went to get his banjo.

* * *

With her mind in overwhelming turmoil, Angela sat on her loveseat cuddling Garbage the cat within her arms, stroking his mangy fur, trying to make some sense of what she was doing. Garbage was a microcosm of her troubles: the forces of D and Andy tearing her apart, both with their redeeming qualities, both with their infuriating faults, righteous vengeance versus actual feelings... The only thing that she knew for sure was that she was never going to explain to Andy how Garbage got his name. She frowned. It had taken her a week of baths to remove the festering smell from his pelt.

There came a knocking on her door. Shave and a hair cut, two bits. Andy.

With a sigh, she set Garbage on the floor and went to let Andy in. His slumping shoulders and strained smile indicated to her that he had had a bad day.

"How did band practice go?" she asked.

"Awful. Some people just don't appreciate good music."

Garbage coughed up a furball.

The poor boy - err... man... ummm... man-child dejectedly stumbled over to the love seat. "They said that a banjo has no place in a The Police cover band and relegated me to backup vocals. Can Kevin hit my high notes? I don't think so!" He buried his head into his hands and nearly sobbed.

The compassion that welled up inside Angela at that moment made her decision for her. "I haven't been entirely fair with you Andy." She awkwardly rubbed his shoulders to comfort him. "Despite your weirdness, you have been really sweet to me, and I've treated you worse than you deserve. And I have been deciding whether or not I want to... give you more of myself... I'm still not comfortable with the idea of knowing you as Abraham's wife knew Abraham, but I'm sure that a mutually enjoyable compromise can be reached."

Andy perked up immediately, though still pouting a bit. "You mean?"

She nodded. "Not sex," she clarified quickly, "but maybe analogous to sex."

* * *

Andy: You remember that one Family Guy episode with the ear sex? Yeah, not as dumb an idea as it sounds.

He grins like the Cheshire Cat.

Andy: Next I think we'll try nose sex.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author Notes**: Hockey playoffs and a friend with a drinking problem means that I tend to disappear.

* * *

Kevin bounces into the office, twinkling lightly on his toes, held up in the air by the wafting scent of delicious double-fudge brownies.

"Double-fudge... _aaaarrrrrrrllllll_," he drools in his best Homer Simpson impression. It's not nearly as good as his Kool-Aid Man impression.

* * *

Angela: Yes, I baked brownies over the weekend. One for everyone. Two for Kevin because he complains if he they're gone before he's full.

Cuts to scene from A Benihana Christmas with Angela scolding Kevin's stomach.

Angela: And two for Andy.

Her expression sours.

Angela: You know why.

* * *

"Mmmm... D-lish, Angel-cakes," Andy croons as she delivers two gooey brownies to his desk on a paper plate.

"I think I'm getting special treatment," Andy smiles and winks at the camera. It's kind of creepy.

Angela looks mortified.

Angela: We will not be doing the (whispers) nose sex (/sotto voce) again.

* * *

Andy smiles as he chews happily on his second brownie. "I love your brownies, Angie-baby," he tells her with his mouth full and crumbs raining onto his pastel suit and paisley tie. Stanley and Phyllis gaze with disgust down at Andy's chest, whether appalled by his horrible table manners or just his horrible fashion sense isn't clear.

Dwight rolls his chair over beside desk island 2, inappropriately grim determination upon his babyish face, given the subject matter at hand. Of course, that's not the subject matter that's on Dwight's mind. Such as it is. "You know, Bernard," Dwight says, "that some people think her cookies are better."

No one notices Angela turn white. Whiter.

"Yeah, I really don't really care that much for Angela's cookies," Andy replies, washing down his brownie with a tall glass of lukewarm milk. "A little bit dry and bland."

Angela is incensed into albinism. Dwight smiles. Just a little bit.

* * *

Andy: My friend, Operation Fallen Angel is now proceeding to phase 3. I.E. the falling down part. In fact, tonight I plan to take her on a romantic overnight picnic in the back of my X-Terra. I even cleaned out all the Burger King wrappers in preparation.

* * *

"Camping? Are you insane?" Angela yells at him in the break room during lunch, disrupting a meeting of the Finer Things Club and sending Pam's biscotti flying. "You know that I'm allergic to poison ivy and poison oak and poison sumac and-"

"Hush my darling." He reaches into his pants pocket and retrieves a box of decongestants. "Not only will you be clear but you will be Claritin clear."

She rolls her eyes at him in the condescending way that has been hurting her eyeballs for the past few months. "Andy, that's for nasal congestion."

"I've packed up the back of my X-Terra with a picnic basket full of vegetarian sandwiches filled with... something... not very meat like, some sparkling white grape juice, some After Eight mints for dessert, and my inflatable bed. It's a roomy twin."

"What about my sleep apnea mask?"

"You won't need it," he boasts, making everyone shudder. Angela really wishes that this conversation was happening in a far less public place, but Andy isn't a very private person. Not at all. So she drags him forcefully out into the hallway, away from prying eyes and ears. But not lenses. As soon as the door closes behind them, an affectionate Andy playfully squeezes Angela's breasts. "Honk," he says, smiling.

"Stop that," she whispers, through gritted teeth, but the corners of her mouth are tugging up and her eyes are sparkling. She swats his hands away, though she doesn't prevent him from doing it again...

"Alright, Andy. I will go on this picnic excursion with you on one condition," she takes a deep breath and resolves herself. "We will have relations in the method of my choosing." Andy nods vigorously and a sly smile forms on Angela's lips. "And the method of my choosing is role play."

Andy starts dancing. "Yes!! I knew you had a kinky side to you!"

"Stop that. I will be the wholesome, Christian, chaste minister's daughter, and you will be the handsome, rugged beet farmer."

"Why can't I be another kind of farmer?" Andy pouts. "Beets? Lame-o. I want to be a dairy farmer."

"Why a dairy farmer?"

"Udders." Honk.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Notes**: Wert returns after a month long trip and absences due to thesis and laziness to bring more of possibly the most disturbing thing ever written. I apologize profusely.

* * *

Andy: After we overcame the whole mosquito thing, last night ended up being (falsetto) _awesome_. I'm glowing, can you tell that I'm glowing? _No, that's not acne_. Zoom out! As I was saying, I totally scored. Yes, that's right. The Nard Dog's found himself a leg to hump. And, in case you were wondering, Angela is a total tiger in the sack. Quite possibly the best I've ever had. Top three for sure.

Glancing covertly left and right, Andy leans forward conspiratorially.

Andy: In fact, I might have to sell the X-Terra. Which saddens me deeply as it has great sentimental value to me and everything. Especially now that I've done it in there. But there _are _some... distracting stains and umm... odours... inside. I used the upholstery cleaner and you really can't smell anything really unless you know it's there, but I _do _know it's there. Makes it kind of unsafe for me to drive actually...

Meredith barges (limping) into the conference room angrily.

Meredith: YOU BASTARD!

* * *

A phone is sitting on the conference room desk. That's right, this is a TP, for talking-phone.

Karen's voice: Counting Angela, he's only had _three_. Now please stop bothering me.

* * *

Angela sighs. And scowls.

Angela: Yes. It's none of your business but we did leave stains in the back of Andy's car. The stains are mostly jelly.

Pause to listen to a question being asked.

Angela: What do you mean 'what kind of jelly'?

* * *

Oscar and Kevin are trying very, very hard to work and be productive. If you'd ask them, they'd say that they are always trying to work and be productive. So they're working about that hard now as they listen to Andy bragging about his conquest of Angela while he waits for her to return from lunch. He's a little annoyed that Angela hadn't wanted to go to Hooters with him though, but you really shouldn't spend ALL of your waking hours with your significant other. Unlike Jim and Pam. Those two will flame out in about a month, he reckons.

Anyway, he'd rather be hanging out and doing the guy talk with Dwight instead of the accountants, but Dwight had just stepped out for a bite himself. Said his cousin Mose had accidentally packed his lunch sack with something he had wittled instead of something he had baked. Oh well. Kevin was always a good audience, just sitting there, giggling...

"Yeah, I've always wanted to try anal," said Andy. "I've been told that Angela was given the Dundie Award for tight ass two years running, so of course I wanted to give 'er a try. Last night she was laying on her stomach after our lovemaking, reading her prayerbook, and I thought it would be the perfect time. Now, I'm a gentleman. At Cornell they groom their students to be kind, professional, and courteous. So I'm lining her up from behind and I thought it would be nice of me to give her a warning. So I yell 'I'm going in!', take aim and try to fire but she's defended herself too well. Her southwest passage is _completely _impassable. I tell you, that Tight Ass Dundie was well deserved."

Oscar's mouth drops open so wide it looks almost like it could be Kevin's. "Andy! That's horrible. And gross. And disrespectful to women."

"I'm not being sexist," Andy defends himself. "I love women! At every opportunity available!"

Oscar shakes his head in disgust and wanders off.

"Go on..." prompts Kevin.

Luckily, for everyone who has good taste but unluckily for my regular readers, Angela chooses this moment to return from lunch. Despite a few misplaced strands of hair escaping from her braids, she scowls at Kevin and he shrinks back to his computer, insofar as it is capable of him to shrink. She doesn't refrain from scowling at Andy either.

"Break room. Now," she orders.

"Yes, my angel of music."

* * *

Andy: That's from Phantom of the Opera. Only I'm not some horribly disfigured psychopath.

Uncomfortable pause.

"Yes," confirmed Andy, "I picked up your nun costume from the dry-cleaners and, as a bonus surprise, I've managed to find one of those giant Pope hats. So tonight should be something very special indeed."

Angela gives him a little smilet before quickly turning away from him again. Andy, in disbelief that she still requires them to face away from each other and look elsewhere while talking to each other, shakes his head and rolls his eyes. He'd really like to do something, some grand gesture so that his dearest Angela would finally acknowledge him in public. Have to put that on the to-do list, after sell X-Terra.

"Andy, even though I'm not Catholic and I think that they are misguided and going to hell, that might not be appropriate," she scolds, only mildly this time.

"Come on, Angelcakes. I mean, look at the size of those hats. There must be some kinky and deviant stuff going on in there. That and all the guys in dresses. If we can harness even a bit of what goes on there, we'll have a blast tonight."

Angela's jaw goes slack in a way that excites Andy just a little bit. "That is definitely inappropriate," she says.

"Like I can't make a wholly uninformed and bigoted stand on something unimportant to me."

Considering her fundamentalist position for a moment, Angela's distaste subsides. "Yes, that is an unfair standard for me to hold you to."

"Give me a hug?"

Angela looks around for the cameras, but once again misses their sneaky hiding space. The one that they've been using on her for three years. Slightly behind the plant. Right outside the door. Finding no camera in sight, she wraps her tiny arms around Andy's waist.

"I love you, short stuff," Andy whispers.

"I know." Before she can extricate herself from Andy's embrace, she notices him lightly spanking her on the behind, which surprising rhythm. Curiosity momentarily overcomes her annoyance. "Andy, what is that?"

"Hmm? Oh, the Super Mario Brothers theme."

* * *

Andy: Good song.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author Notes**: I thought I should finally finish writing this story. So I did. I feel productive. Weird.

* * *

Andy: I may start to be getting worried about how we haven't had sex as ourselves yet. I've been a beet farmer, a dairy farmer, Ted Haggard, a priest, John XXIII, either William Bradford or William Brewster, I can't remember which - but _not _John Carver - the king of the cat people, the villiage idiot of the cat people, and Harry Connick Junior. (sigh) I just want to be me. Obviously some people want something different than me. Like coach Davis in high school. And Mrs. Babcock in third grade...

----

Angela: Is it so strange that I like Harry Connick Junior?

She flushes to an almost normal caucasian color and fiddles with her lacy collar.

Angela: Is it hotter in this conference room than normal?

----

Andy: ...And Mrs. Huber in fifth grade. And my parents (sniff). And Grandma...

----

As silently as she could, attempting to move without attracting any attention to herself, Angela makes her way over to Dwight's desk on that sales floor, timing her arrival with the absence of Andy and the presence of the fewest people in the area. And by that, she meant no Phyllis.

"Dwight," she whispers, "You need to meet with me for some corrections to your sales figures for the last month. It's urgent."

Dwight stops chewing on his pencil, barely looking up from his monitor to glance askew at his monkey. "But my paperwork is never in error."

"This month it is," Angela says carefully. "If you would please come with me so that we can correct this error."

With shifty eyes, Dwight looks around to see what the office bystanders are witnessing of this conversation. He spies Pam at reception pretending to not be listening in, and Stanley not caring. Luckily, that misanthrope Jim is out on a sales call. Bernard is stuck in the conference room. A small grin reaches his narrow, chapped lips. "Of course, Angela. I would be happy to rectify this error."

----

In the conference room Andy has recomposed himself.

Andy: Can you edit that last part out? I love my Grandma...

He looks away.

Andy: ...No matter what she says. And things with Angela are going well. And quite frankly, that cat thing had some very, very hot and inappropriate licking. The soon to be hopefully prospective missus Andrew Bernard is a very tasty piece of woman. _I haz a flavr_.

----

"_Angela_," Andy singsongs in a sexy falsetto voice as he emerges from his interview. "_Aaaaaaahhhhhngelaaa_." He wanders over to the accounting corner and doesn't see his love there with Kevin and Oscar who, once again, are playing hateball. "Very odd." He looks around the sales floor and decides to look into the break room first instead of the annex, knowing that his Angela has a bit of a sweet tooth and spends twice as much on candy as most people here. He's amazed but oh so happy that she can keep her sexilicious figure.

He does find his smooshiepoo in the break room - but she's there with Dwight. Which was odd because Angela didn't usually spend time with Dwight because she didn't usually spend time with anybody. "I've finally found you, Smooshiepoo," Andy says, wrapping his arm protectively around Angela's chair (without touching her, of course) and completely missing the death glare that she gave him for calling her 'Smooshiepoo' (of course). "Why are you in the break room with Dwight? Since when did you not dislike like him?"

"We had some accounting discrepancies we had to take care of, Andy. There is nothing unseemly going on at all. We are simply co-workers who interact as well as co-workers as any others do," explains Angela, calmly but defensively.

Andy kneels in perplexion for a few moments as the rusty gears in his head slowly spun, crushing the hamster and mixing several metaphors. "Then why are you not taking care of accounting discrepancies in the accounting area?"

"Those two miscreants were flinging paper footballs at my head. We had to move our paperworking into the break room. And ironically we have been working very hard."

Andy nods as he slowly absorbs his smooshiepoo's explanation. "I can tell you have been. You look a little flushed. Dealing with Dwight can have that effect on people. I did not get a very good price for my X-Terra from this man. If I was not in such perfect control of my emotions, I would have been quite angry at him."

"You did not get a good price because it is not a good car."

"You take that back!" shouts Andy in a moment of unmanaged anger.

"Never!"

"And it's a truck, not a car!"

"False. _Real _trucks are built in either America or Germany. A Nissan 'truck' assembled in Brazil? Please. My oncle has a tougher station wagon than that!"

"Dwight, stop it! Can't you see that this pointless argument is disturbing Angela? Look at her. She's getting all pink." Andy takes Angela by the shoulder and leads her out the door. "Come on. I'll take you to lunch."

"Yes, I need a break," she says, gazing longingly at Dwight as she went with Andy onto the sales floor.

"And I can help you with that. Give me a break," he starts singing, "Give me a break, break me off a piece of that... fudgesicles... Argh, I still can't remember!"

"For Chrissakes, it's a Kit Kat commercial," grumbles Stanley. "Nitwit."

Despite the insult, Andy perks up immediately. "Thanks, man. I really appreciate it." He starts singing again. "_Give me a break, give me a break, break me off a piece of that Kit Kat_... umm... no that doesn't have enough syllables. What is it really?"

Stanley sighs. "If anybody needs me, I'll be in the break room. Taking a break."

----

"Come here," Andy stage whispered to the cameraman while beckoning him over with his hand. He was wandering down the hall to the room where he had previously found Garbage the cat. "I have something personal and private to show you." The picture shudders for a moment. "Good guess, but no. Something nice for a change." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring, and opens the box to reveal the glittering diamond engagement ring. It's kind of small, actually. "What do you think? Think Angela will like it?" Andy's smile turns into a sideways smirk. "You're not doing the camera-bob head nod thing." His sideways smirk falls into a frown. "Why aren't you doing the camera-bob head nod thing?"

* * *

End Notes: Well, that's it, the end of my bit. I thought I'd leave you all with a treat and end with an excerpt from the insane HalloweenJack138.

* * *

Angela: I do not have a problem with Oscar.

Angry pause.

Angela: I have a problem with Oscar's lifestyle. Deviant sexual behavior has no place in the workplace and I...

Andy wanders into to frame, apparently not noticing the cameras.

Andy: Okay, I've got the candles, the shackles, and disco ball set up in the supply closet and I've got the only key, so...

If Angela had any color in her cheeks, it probably would drain out at this point.

Andy: What?


End file.
